


An Active Imagination

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Series: Sladick Fics [10]
Category: Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: BAMF Dick Grayson, Betrayal, Bittersweet Ending, Brainwashing, Conditioning, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Has Some PTSD, Dick is 13 here guys as per the show, Double Agents, Evil Slade Wilson, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Dick Grayson, Kinda, Lex Luthor Being an Asshole, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Team, Rape/Non-con Elements, So Be Warned About That, Stockholm Syndrome, Young Dick Grayson, due to the brainwashing, now with an angsty sequel!, sleeper agent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: Dick knew there was something wrong with him. He was losing time. He had injuries he didn't remember getting. He woke up in places different from where he'd fallen asleep.Dickknewthere was something wrong. And yet, he couldn't for the life of him get himself to speak up.





	1. Chapter 1

Dick knew there was something wrong with him.

He was losing time, for starters. He'd blink and suddenly it would be midnight when he could've  _sworn_ it was just eight. Sometimes he'd wake up in places different from where he'd gone to sleep, like on the couch instead of in his bed where he  _knew_ he was. Occasionally he'd even be in different clothing.

And then there were the injuries. Like bruises around his wrists or ankles. Or the pain in his lower back. Or the sore throat. Or the bruises on his thighs that kind of looked like fingers. The kinds of things that made anxiety tight in his chest and tears in his eyes, upset for reasons he had no idea about.

He knew he needed to tell someone. Bruce. Alfred. Black Canary. Wally. Hell, how about  _any number_ of the superheroes he saw on what was basically a day-to-day basis? They would be able to help him. They could tell him what was wrong. They could make him feel not so alone.

But any time he tried he just...stopped. Once, he'd approached Bruce in the kitchen, stepped right up next to him, opened his mouth to tell him what was going on, and then

Well, Dick didn't actually know what happened then. The next thing he was aware of was blinking his eyes open on the top of a very tall building, already in his Robin uniform, out on patrol with Bruce. Bruce, who was acting like there was nothing wrong, like he hadn't just witnessed his kid black out or something.

And that's what happened every. Goddamn. Time.

Months passed, and Dick gave up on it. He told himself it was nothing. That the injuries were just the result of various missions with the team, that losing time was just how tired he was, that the itch at the back of his mind was nothing more than his own paranoia.

None of it was something he had to worry about. It was fine. Everything was fine.

 _"Copy that, Robin?"_ someone in his ear said, and Dick woke with a silent breath, blinking rapidly as he came back to himself.

"Copy," he replied automatically, and then looked around, trying to figure out where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He was outside, and it was dark; last he'd checked, he'd been in the Cave with the rest of the team, getting a mission briefing. It had been late afternoon, still light outside.

He brought his wrist in front of him and pulled up the time and their coordinatesjust past ten pm, and they were in...Italy? He thought back to what he'd heard in the briefing; Batman had just started to tell them about a mob boss who'd run away, but had something valuable in his possession that they needed to get before the bad guys who were after it did.

Dick didn't know what the thing was, nor who the escaped criminal was. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing in this moment, what Aqualad had been asking him to copy.

He drew in a few deep, calming breaths.  _It's okay,_ he told himself.  _It's all okay. Just breathe, and then figure out what you're supposed to do._

He closed his eyes, taking a few moments to center himself, and then

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer perched in a tree, no longer outside, and not in his Robin uniform anymore. He was sitting in a green armchair, comfortable and plush. His arms were tied with course rope behind the back of the chair.

Dick's breath quickened in panic and his head jerked around. Had the mob boss captured them? And...put him in gym shorts and a t-shirt? Wait, these were his

"Hello, Robin," a familiar voice called as the man walked around to the front of the young hero.  _Deathstroke,_ Dick identified; he'd fought him with Batman once or twice, a fierce enemy. He wasn't currently wearing his mask, and Dick didn't understand why he felt like he'd seen the mercenary's face in person before, as they'd never actually met.

"Deathstroke," Dick said, impressed by how calm his voice was. "I didn't know you were stooping to working for criminals on the run now." Because that's what this had to be, right? Deathstroke was working for whoever-it-was that the team had been tracking, and he'd managed to sneak up on Robin or something, and then capture him.

The mercenary quirked a smile, looking amused. "Rise and shine, little bird," he said.

Dick had a brief moment of confusionbecause what the  _fuck_ did that mean?and then he gasped, suddenly remembering  _everything._

"I love watching you remember," Slade murmured, tilting his head. "It really never gets old; the fear, anger, desperation, _shame_ go ahead, kid. Say what you always say. Once we get passed all your threats and denials, we can get to work."

And Dick hated _hated_ that the mercenary was right. Because now that he remembered  _(again)_ , now that he knew what Slade was doing to him, knew what Slade was making  _him_ do, all he wanted to do was scream at the man about what he'd do when he got out of this, what Batman would do.

And he wanted to sob, because now he remembered where the bruises all came from.

"Why are you doing this?" Dick asked brokenly, and even as he said it, he knew it wasn't the first time he'd asked.

And Slade knew it, too, so he didn't bother to acknowledge the question.

The mercenary pulled over a chair, sitting about a foot away, facing Dick. He straddled the chair backwards and rested his arms on the back of it, watching Dick with a vaguely amused, smug smile.

"Sorry for blacking you out while on a mission," Slade said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "My client was interested in the stone Galliani had stolen, and so I wanted to be able to keep tabs on everything, which meantas per usualyou couldn't remember what you were doing for me."

So many missions, so many secrets. He'd given so much information to Slade, and he didn't even know it.

"I'm the mole," Dick said with dawning horror, not the first time he'd had this revelation. It probably wouldn't be the last.

Slade nodded.  _"There_ it is. Was wondering when you'd hit that. Now, we have work to do."

"Let me go!" Dick shouted, yanking at his bonds. He'd been trying to undo them, but Slade had done his job wellthe knots were too far up his arms for him to be able to reach them. He was starting to feel panicked; Slade had complete control over him. He could do anything he wanted to him.

Well, he  _had_ done everything he wanted to him, and more. Many times. Nausea turned Dick's stomach.

"Now, now," Slade chastised. "You know that won't work, Robin. And as fun as watching you struggle is, we are actually on a schedule. So-"

"No, no," Dick gasped, knowing what came next, "no, don't do this, please-"

Slade ignored him, just like all the times before. "Report mission, little bird."

A beautiful sort of calm settled over Dick. He relaxed into his seat, rolling his shoulders against the tense muscles there. His bindings were still tight, but now that he wasn't yanking at them, the course rope didn't hurt anymore.

"Ready to report, Sir," he said, meeting his master's gaze calmly. He wanted to be good. He wanted to serve well. He wanted to make Slade and the rest of the Light proud.

Slade smirked, watching him for a moment, and then got up, moving around behind Dick. After a moment, the ropes fell away, releasing Dick's hands.

As his master walked back around to sit in front of him again, Dick rubbed at his wrists, soothing the red skin. He made no attempts to run or attack. Why would he? He was loyal.

"Do you have any more codes for me?" Slade asked.

Dick nodded. "Yes, Sir. I memorized Flash's, Red Tornado's, and Zatara's, along with the ones I've already given you."

"Good boy," Slade purred, and Dick shivered with delight. Yes, he wanted to be good. He wanted to make Slade proud of him. "Tell them to me."

The young boy followed the instruction and his master copied them down in a small notebook.

"Is anyone suspicious of you?"

"No," Dick said, shaking his head. "They think there _might_ be a mole, of course, but no one suspects me since I'm Batman's kid. Martian Manhunter scanned my mind just in casealong with the rest of the teambut since I'm never aware of my sleeper status unless I'm with you, there isn't a problem."

"Good," Slade said. "That's very good, Robin. You're doing so well."

Dick shivered again, feeling immensely pleased. He wanted to do well. He wanted Slade to be happy with his work.

"C'mere, kid," Slade said with a small jerk of his head. Dick stood up obediently, taking a step forward until he was in front of his master. With Slade sitting, Dick was slightly taller, but not so much that he had to bend when Slade cupped the back of his neck and dragged him in for a kiss.

Dick went without complaint, opening his mouth obligingly and moaning at the feeling of their tongues brushing together. Slade turned, bringing Dick around to the other side, and then pulled the young boy onto his lap. Dick melted against him, his breath catching as Slade ran a hand over his skin under his t-shirt.

"You're very loyal, aren't you, Dick?" Slade asked, his lips traveling down Dick's neck.

"Yes," Dick panted. "Yes, Sir."

"Loyal to  _me_ above all else?"

"Yes," Dick moaned, his back arching as Slade bit down on the base of his neck. "Loyal to you, Sir."

"Good boy," Slade said, and Dick was pleased to hear that he wasn't completely unaffected. "Now, on your knees."

Dick didn't hesitate to drop to the floor, waiting, his lips parted. Slade wasted no time in freeing his cock, sizable just like the rest of him. Dick moved forward without being asked, taking the mercenary in his mouth.

Giving a blowjob was easy; he'd done it a hundred times before, knew what Slade liked, knew the older man's habits. Like when he was getting close, Slade would always take a handful of Dick's hair and grab it  _tight._ Sometimes he'd pull Dick forward until the boy's nose was pressed against his pubes, choking on his length. Sometimes he'd just hold it, waiting. Sometime he came down Dick's throat. Sometimes he yanked Dick off of him and came on his face.

It was a case-by-case basis. This time, he pulled Dick against him. The boy choked and fought against his gag reflex, breathing through his nose. He was then roughly pushed away, and Slade came on his face, some of it sticking to his hair and eyelashes.

And with that, Dick came in his pants.

They both panted heavily, and then Slade tucked himself away again and leaned forward, kissing Dick forcefully.

"Gorgeous," the mercenary murmured. "You're just perfect, Dick. Absolutely perfect."

Dick beamed up at him, overjoyed. "Thank you," he said, his voice a little scratchy.

Slade smirked. "Go get cleaned up quickly, and then I have new orders for you before I send you back."

"Yes, Sir," Dick agreed immediately, getting to his feet. He turned and headed for where he knew the bathroom was, his steps sure and his mind at ease. He was a good boy, a loyal one, and his master was proud of him. That's all he cared about.

* * *

Dick woke up at home, in his bed.

He blinked absently at the wall, staring at the shadows cast by the window. The wind was howling outside, and rain was just beginning to pick up.

What was the last thing he remembered? He remembered...being in that tree, in Italy, at ten pm. And then...home. He squinted at the clock on his wall, trying to make out the handshalf past three in the morning. How had the mission gone? Had they been successful? Familiar anxiety gripped his chest at not being able to remember, at losing so much time.

Just about five and a half hours. What had gone on in that time? And why had no one noticed anything strange with him?

With a sigh, Dick slid out of bed, rubbing his eyes. He frowned when he caught sight of his wrists and held them up for closer inspection; they were chaffed and irritated. Easy signs of having been bound by something scratchy.

What happened on the mission? And why wasn't this the first time he'd woken up with ligature marks he couldn't recall?

He made his way out of his room and down the grand staircase, avoiding the creaking spots he'd memorized long ago. The house was dark and quiet, both of the other occupants of the Manor probably asleep.

Dick stood absently in the center of the entrance hall, staring down the dark hallway that led to Bruce's office where the hidden entrance to the batcave was. He stayed there for a few minutes, feeling pointless, and then headed towards the office and down into the batcave.

He half expected to find Bruce still down there, the workaholic that he was, but the cave was just as dark and quiet as the rest of the house. He made his way over to the computer and pulled up the video logs for the batcave, searching for the most recent time slot that he'd lost his memory in this place. He didn't know what he expected to find, but just _something_ that would show that he wasn't crazy.

He watched himself throwing punches at a bag, darting and swerving around the thing. He watched Bruce enter the cave, both of them acknowledging each other, and then the man went to pull on his costume. When he reemerged, Dick watched himself shifting anxiously, biting his lips, and then straightening as he clearly came to a decision. He walked towards Batman, opened his mouth, and then

His body relaxed again and he said,  _"Wally keeps delighting in making comments about us."_ He tone was amused, a laugh running underneath it. It was his voice. His normal voice, his normal words. But Dick couldn't remember any of this.

The Bruce on-screen sighed, shaking his head.  _"I'm surprised that boy can keep his_ own _secret identity, let alone ours."_

Dick watched himself laugh at that, nodding and smiling.  _"The fact that Flash hasn't been outed yet shows a greater strength than I think I would've attributed to my friend."_

Bruce shot his son a wry smile, clearly agreeing, and then they headed for the batmobile, Dick still chattering away, just like always.

That night, the next thing Dick had remembered was waking up mid-fight with a bad guy. He'd stumbled momentarily, shocked at the sudden change from the batcave and Bruce to an alleyway fight, but had righted himself quickly and acted like nothing was wrong.

He had no memory of that little conversation, nor the ride in the batmobile, nor whatever happened before that fight. Gone, just like that. Just like every other time.

And yet, nothing was out of place.

Dick watched the clip again, and then again, and then again. He searched relentlessly for any sign of something being wrong. He analyzed his body language, and Bruce's, and even watched for any tiny shifts in the frame for  _anything_ off, anything that could've done this to him.

He spent hours there in front of the computer, and somewhere around seven AM he fell asleep, his head pillowed on his folded arms.

He was startled awake by a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Bruce frowning down at him in concern.

"Are you alright?" the elder hero asked.

"Of course," Dick replied automatically, the words sliding right out of his mouth without his consent. "Couldn't sleep so I thought I'd come down and go over some old files, no worries. I've gotta get ready for school, though, so see you in a bit." He quicklyand subtlyclosed out of the video files and then slipped towards the staircase, ignoring the feeling of Bruce's eyes on his back.

* * *

"Was he hacking into files he shouldn't have been looking at?" Alfred enquired. "From the Watchtower, perhaps?"

"No," Bruce replied, baffled and concerned. "Far as I can tell, he was watching a few minutes of security footage over and over again for  _hours."_

"What was on the video?"

"Nothing," Bruce replied, his concern growing. "That's what I don't understand. It's just him and me in the batcave. He's working with a punching bag, I come in and get ready, he walks over to me, and we talk. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was just one night of many for patrol. Nothing big even happened that night, either. No Scarecrow or Joker or anythingjust low-level busts. I don't understand why he was fixated on this."

"Have you tried  _asking_ him?" Alfred asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce shot him a look. "When I woke him up, he told me he couldn't sleep and was going over some old files, which is clearly a lie. Why do you think he would tell me the truth now?" He paused. "I'm worried, Alfred. I don't know what's going on in his head."

"It  _is_ unlike Master Richard to keep secrets like this," Alfred agreed, making the concession. "It's certainly odd behavior. And you're sure there's no hint of something foul in that security footage?"

Bruce sighed and shook his head, turning back to face the computer where he had the video up, playing on a loop the bit Dick had been watching for hours. "I scanned it with just about every program that exists and there's nothing out of the ordinary. Dick walks up to me, relaxes a little, and we talk. It's...nothing. There's absolutely nothing there."

* * *

As the next couple weeks passed and Dick didn't lose more than a couple minutes at a time, he started to really feel comfortable again.

He remained present for the entirety of missions, he got to enjoy free time with his friends, he completed his homework for school. If he was losing any prolonged time then it was while he was asleep and he didn't know about it, because he  _(thankfully)_ kept waking up where he'd passed out.

Whatever had been wrong with him was clearly a temporary thing, and Dick was grateful. He was relieved to be getting his body back on track, and with it, his peace of mind.

Bruce didn't ever ask him about that morning in the batcave again, but every once in a while, Dick could feel his mentor watching him closely, like he was trying to figure out a particularly challenging puzzle. Dick refused to give him any reason to be concerned, and acted perfectly naturally.

It was far easier to do now. He started keeping track of the minutes he lost, and over a three-week period, he'd only been blacked out for a total eight-one minutes, which was _nothing_ compared to the hours and  _hours_ he'd been losing beforehand.

Overall, Dick was feeling pretty good. Which meant, of course, that something had to go horribly wrong.

* * *

He couldn't remember everything of how they'd gotten to this point.

He remembered the Cave being called by the League, needing some extra support, just like with the Ice Fortresses a couple months back. No big deal, and certainly exciting.

He remembered being split into teams. He blacked out, then, but it couldn't have been long, because when he came back to himself Batman was nodding and saying, "Good point, Robin; Superboy and Kid-Flash will switch squads."

"Don't want me on your team, Rob?" Wally asked, eyes wide with mock hurt. He put a dramatic hand to his chest. "I don't think I can survive this betrayal."

Dick chuckled, shaking his head, and pushed down his anxiety; why had he suggested the switch? What was his reasoning? And why had Batman agreed?

He remembered M'gann hugging him and wishing him well, remembered saying he'd see her soon. Artemis rolled her eyes as Wally made his expected flirtatious comments, but Dick could see the brief glance she sent the speedster's way before they separated.

He blacked out again, and then he remembered crouching in a bush, Artemis at his side. He could see Green Arrow down farther, binoculars raised to his eyes, and Superboy next to him.

His utility belt was slightly heavier than he thought it had been.

He remembered moving forward, following Artemis' lead considering he didn't actually know precisely what was going on. He longed for a hint of where Bruce was, because he was surely out there somewhere in the dark, and he wanted his mentor by his side.

Another black out, and then they were being ambushed. Enemies on all sides, pushing the heroes together. Batman, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Superboy, Artemis, and him, against countless enemies.

"Well this is just great!" Artemis bit out. "Not stressful at all!"

Dick shot her a quick, strained grin, and ducked under the punch of one of the masked figures. "Stressed? You kidding? No, I'm totally whelmed."

And then...they stopped.

The people had them surrounded, rows upon rows of them on all sides. The six heroes stood in a circle, back-to-back, in ready fighting stances. But none of the attackers moved.

"Okaaaayyyy," Green Arrow said slowly, his hands tightening on his bow. "That's not creepy, or anything. Thoughts?"

None of them replied, all of them just as unsure as him.

Then, one side of the men began to part, opening to admit a group of people to approach.

Lex Luthor, Deathstroke, Sportsmaster.

At Dick's right side, Artemis tensed even further at the sight of her father, his lips pressing into a thing line. On Dick's left, Superboy's attention shifted to Luthor.

"Hello, everyone," Luthor said smoothly, a pleased smirk tilting his lips. "Glad you could make it."

"So you're the one behind all this then?" Black Canary asked, glaring. She turned around to face the newcomers, directing her attention away from the rows of men and towards the bigger threats. After a moment's hesitation, Batman and Green Arrow did the same thing, knowing that the men wouldn't attack unless given the order by the supervillains.

"Well, I can't take sole credit," Luthor demurred. "This was mostly Deathstroke's venture, actually." He tilted his head slightly towards the mercenary. "Feel like showing off what your boy can do, Wilson?"

The smirk was clear in Deathstroke's voice when he replied, "Don't mind if I do. Little bird, complete mission."

A familiar calm settled over Dick, the flood of memories in his mind not bothering him. He was loyal, he wanted to be good, he wanted to serve Slade and serve well. He had a mission to complete.

His first move was pulling the Kryptonite patch from his utility belt, one of five he'd put in there earlier at his master's orders. He slapped it against Superboy's neck before any of the heroes around him could react to what Slade had said.

Superboy cried out and dropped to his knees, then collapsed to the ground, neon green lines spreading over his skin from where the patch was sticking.

Dick's next move was Artemis; he removed a tranquilizer dart from his belt and threw it at her, faster than she could swerve out of the way, and it stuck into her upper-arm, immediately sending her into unconsciousness.

By this point he'd lost the element of surprise, and the remaining heroes were Leaguers. He backed up to put some space between himself and them, analyzing, planning. In the corner of his eye he saw Sportsmaster step forward, and then Deathstroke stop him with a hand on his arm.

"Stand down, Robin," Batman ordered.

Dick didn't listen; he didn't have to, after all. Bruce wasn't his master, and Slade had given his orders.

With one more sweep of his eyes over the three heroes, Dick pulled something else from his belta meta inhibitor collar, specifically calibrated to Black Canary's powers. Lance was still an extremely skilled fighter, but taking her power out of the running would make this far easier. Plus, his master had added in a sedative to it that would administer upon contact with skin, so that would make her drowsy enough to not be a threat.

Plan in place, Dick moved.

He darted to the left, making it seem like he was going for Green Arrow. Queen drew his bow reflexively, but hesitated. Dick had an advantage over the three heroesthey didn't want to hurt him, so they'd hold back a little. Dick had no such compunctions.

With a quick turn, Dick rolled to Green Arrow's other side, closer to Black Canary. Queen shifted, confused by the sudden change, and kicked out, foot aiming for Dick's side. But Dick was faster and a small target, so the kick missed.

Black Canary was ready for him when he popped up in front of her. He'd spent a good amount of time sparring against her so he already had a feel for her fighting style, but the downside was that she had a feel for his, too.

He kept his motions on the defensive, not trying to hit or kick back, just waiting for an opening. She still didn't see him as an enemy, though, not yet, and so when she realized he wasn't actually attacking her, she tried to draw back. It gave Dick the tiniest of split seconds where her hands lowered just a few inches

Dick jumped, arching over her, using her shoulders as a springboard. While in the air, he reached down and snapped the collar around her throat. He landed in a quick roll and popped to his feet, turning back around.

Lance made a strangled soundnot in pain, just woozy and surprisedand swayed on her feet before dropping to her hands and knees, one hand going up to pull at the collar.

"Canary!" Green Arrow shouted, his voice panicked, his attention now firmly on her.

 _Good,_ Dick thought, and a small smile curved his lips,  _that makes him an easy target._

Queen dodged the first tranq dart Dick threw at him, and then rose his bow, taking aim. His movements were sloppy though, and Dick easily ducked under the arrow that the archer let loose, rolling in close, entering Queen's personal space.

Now, Green Arrow was certainly not an incompetent fighter, but his primary skills were in long-distance weaponry, which made him far less of a threat up close and personal than Black Canary and Batman were.

And so with Batman's training, it didn't take Dick long to stab Queen in the neck with a tranq dart, straight to the carotid artery. With that strong bloodflow, Green Arrow dropped immediately like a sack of bricks.

All that was left was Batman.

Dick whirled around to face his last opponent, settling into an easy fighting stance. Wayne was in a similar position about ten feet away, but he wasn't moving, just watching. He was trying to figure out what to do.

Frankly, so was Dick.

Even more so than Black Canary, Dick knew Wayne's fighting style intimately. This was the man who'd trained him, after all, from day one, when he was just a grieving nine-year-old boy. But the problem was that despite that knowledge, he knew he couldn't beat Batman in hand-to-hand combat. Wayne knew him too well and had far more years of experience fighting. If they engaged in a fair fight, Dick would lose.

Which simply meant he had to play dirty.

Best way to do that? Manipulate Batman's sympathies.

"Robin,  _stand down,"_ Wayne ordered again. "Think about what you're doing right now; those are your friends on the ground, it's  _me._ You don't have to do this. We can figure this out."

 _Come on,_ Dick thought,  _give me an opening. Say something personal, come on, Bruce, make a better appeal._

When Dick didn't move or say anything, Wayne softened his stance, standing straighter. He took two steps forward and Dick fought against the urge to back up, to keep the distance between them; he needed Wayne close for this to work.

"Stop this, Robin. Whatever's wrong, we can work it out. We can go home right now. Just come with me. It'll all be okay."

 _That'll have to do,_ Dick decided.

He made a small sound of pain, bringing one of his hands up to knuckle at his forehead. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, bracing himself with his free hand.

"B, it hurts," he cried out. In the corner of his eye he saw Slade stiffen, and hoped his master wouldn't intervene before he finished this.

Within two seconds, Batman was at Dick's side, reaching out to him. Dick could see the fear and relief beneath the hero's calm façade.

"Okay, I've got you, Robin. We'll fix this, just have to get you out of here."

He let out another pained sound and reached slowly towards his utility belt, releasing the high-velocity taser from its place. Then, between one moment and the next, he rammed it into the small spot at Wayne's hip where the chink in the armor was, just a small spot that was weaker than the rest.

No one else would've ever known it was there. But Dick had spent countless hours with Bruce; he knew each and every part of the Batman suit like the back of his hand.

Wayne let out a small shout and jerked. Dick gave him a little push so he wouldn't fall  _on_ him, and then Batman fell to the ground, twitching as the electricity scorched his body.

Dick got to his feet and stared down at the hero for a few moments before pulling another sedative from his belt and injecting it into the man, just for good measure.

After a few moments, Batman fell still, the only movement that of his slow breaths.

There was a tightness in Dick's chest that he resolutely ignored, examining the familiar plains of Wayne's face and suit. It felt almost  _wrong_ to be standing over an unconscious Batman, like this was something that shouldn't be possible.

He didn't look up as footsteps approached, not until his master was right next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Dick rose his head and his heart clenched at the look of pure satisfaction and pride on Slade's face, a smile lighting up his own in return.

"Excellent work, Robin," he said, and Dick felt a shiver run down his spine at the heartfelt  _truth_ in the mercenary's voice. He'd pleased his master, he'd done well.

"Thank you, Sir," he replied, breathless. He saw Sportsmaster going over to check on Artemis, and just a few feet away Luthor was staring at Dick with an appraising, impressed eye.

Following Dick's line of sight, Slade looked to Luthor and cocked his head.

"That was very impressive," Luthor said, one corner of his mouth tilting upward. "It seems you picked the right kid for the job, Deathstroke, considering how Robin just took them all down." He glanced at Batman's prone figure. "And you trained him well; I certainly believed that the conditioning was breaking for a moment."

"So did I," Slade agreed with a snort, and Dick straightened at the implication that his master had doubted him. Feeling the motion, Slade squeezed his shoulder comfortingly and said, "Take it as a compliment, little bird, to your acting abilities."

Instantly, Dick  _did_ feel it as a compliment. He smiled up at his master and nodded. "Thank you, Sir."

"Marvelous," Luthor murmured, watching the interaction with fascination. "As long as you include the trigger phrase, he obeys? Even for things as small as that?"

Slade made a sound of confirmation. "There are some longer, more specific phrases, but once he's been triggered into this mindset all it takes are those two little words." His hand moved up, cupping the side of Dick's neck instead of holding his shoulder. Dick couldn't see his eye because of the mask, but he could feel the burning gaze nevertheless. "I could tell him to strip naked and lick your boots, Luthor, and he'd follow the command without hesitation."

Luthor's lips curled in distaste but his eyes were still lit with sick curiosity. "No need for a demonstration, thank you."

Slade snorted, shaking his head, and Luthor walked off, heading towards the slumped figure of Superboy.

"What's the plan now, Sir?" Dick asked. "Do you have another mission for me?"

"Not quite yet, kid," Slade murmured. "For now, we celebrate."

* * *

In recent months, Dick had gotten used to waking up or coming back to himself in a location that wasn't what he last remembered.

But this had to take the cake.

One moment he'd been back-to-back with his allies, facing a practical army of men, with Luthor and his goons approaching, and the next

His hands were tied to the headboard of the bed he was lying in. He was on top of the sheets, the blanket pushed down to the end of the bed, and he was completely naked. There were bruises littering his body and he could see spots of red blood on the sheets, close to his pelvic area.

Nausea rose, and he felt himself doing the one thing Bruce had always trained him against doinghe panicked.

Dick's breaths started coming in in sharp pants, his eyes wide, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He wasn't naïve, he could put two and two together and figure out what had happened. Someone had...he'd been...

It only made his panic worse.

Someone entered the bedroom, then, wearing nothing but a towel around their waist. The man stopped when he saw Dick, hyperventilating and yanking at the ropes, and then sighed and approached.

"No, no, no, no, no," Dick gasped desperately, cringing away from the man he recognized as the mercenary Slade Wilson. "No, don't touch me, don't-"

"Lights out, little bird," Deathstroke murmured, and after a moment of pure calm inside of him, Dick blacked out.

* * *

"On my way to the meet-point, Sir," Dick said into his comm unit. "Half an hour, max."

 _"Good, Renegade,"_ Slade replied,  _"you've done very well tonight."_ Dick smiled, warmth flooding his chest.  _"See you in thirty minutes."_

It had been three weeks since Dick had set the ambush against the team and the League, and since then Dick had been on practically non-stop missions. With his double agent status revealed, he couldn't continue being Robin, and thus Slade had officially taken him on as his apprentice.

He worked hard every day to make his masterand, by extension, the Lightproud, and every time he came back from a mission successful he delighted in the praise Slade gave freely and readily.

Dick was only fifteen minutes from the meet-point when it happened.

He was on his motorcycle, the device he'd been tasked with stealing tucked securely into his new utility belt, when something slammed harshly into his side. He grunted and went flying, curling instinctively to protect himself against what was sure to be a harsh landing.

Instead, something caught him midair, and he blinked up at the dark blue sky to see a figure flying towards him, her arm stretched out, her eyes glowing green. A quick glance showed him that he was being held five feet off the ground by her telekinesis.

The whole team was thereexcept, of course, for Superboyall of them fixed firmly on him.

"I have hostiles," Dick murmured. "It's the team; Miss Martian has a hold on me."

There was a pause, and then,  _"I'm on the way to your location, you only need to hold them off long enough for me to reach you, little bird."_

Dick set his jaw in determination, and worked on a plan.

M'gann was keeping him in the air, but her grip was on the center of his body, not his arms. He reached quickly into his belt and pulled out a flash grenade, chucking it at her. The Martian cried out and reared back, losing focus.

Dick twisted his body and braced for impact, head ducked in order to protect it. He grunted as he hit hard cement but rolled and pushed himself to his feet, jogging a few steps to get past the jarring pain in his bones.

He made sure to keep his hostiles in view.

"Robin, we do not wish to harm you," Aqualad said, hand outstretched in a gesture of peace. "Let us take you in before any damage is done."

Dick couldn't help but smirk; the idea that they would beat him was laughable. He'd taken down three Leaguerswhat chance did they stand against him? The only real threat was Miss Martian because of her ability to get into his head, but she had an easily exploitable weakness.

"I would offer you a similar deal, Kaldur'ahm," Dick said. "Simply turn and leave, and I won't have to harm you."

"Rob, it's  _us,"_ Kid-Flash pleaded, his eyes wide and sad. "Come on, man, what's gotten into you?"

"And where did they take Superboy?" Artemis asked quietly. She'd been there when his true loyalties had been revealed, and the careful look in her eyes showed that she was the only one present who wasn't going to underestimate him and his capabilities.

"Last chance," Dick replied. He didn't know and didn't care where Luthor had taken Superboy; the Kryptonian clone didn't matter, not past Dick's mission to bring him down.

His former teammates glanced at each other, and then settled into ready stances, determination in all of their expressions right beside the sadness and confusion.

Dick let out a quiet breath and cracked his neck. "Remember that I gave you the opportunity to leave."

He darted into action. Fighting them all was familiar after months and months of training and sparring, but fighting them all at once was certainly new. It made adrenaline flood his body, his heart pounding, and it felt... _good._

They were all very skilled, but he was Batman's prodigy, raised by the man who had plans to take down each and every Leaguer should he need to. Dick was simply  _better_ than his ex-team, and it was almost funny that they were only just realizing this now, once it was too late.

He had all the tools he needed in his utility belt, packed for just this kind of occasion.

For Aqualad and Miss Martian, ropes that burned with an almost never-ending fire. M'gann whimpered as the rope wrapped around her and she collapsed, the fire too much for her Martian body. Aqualad went down much the same, but he got in quite a few hits beforehand.

For Kid-Flash, pellets that froze to arctic degrees once they made contact with skin. The speedster choked on a yell as his body turned on him, his muscles freezing, and he tumbled and skidded across the ground, eyes wide.

The dizziness hit him out of nowhere and he swayed on his feet, blinking heavily. His spread his arms in an attempt to help his balance but he staggered forward all the same, and then dropped to his knees.

As he felt to his side, darkness creeping into his vision, he noticed that the small prick of pain on his side wasn't from one of Kaldur's hits, but from a small arrowhead hiding a needle.

Green boots walked into his vision and their owner crouched down.

"You shouldn't have saved me for last," Artemis told him, and then everything went dark.

* * *

Dick woke up to the feeling of a thin mattress over a metal slab, and easily identified his location as the holding cells in the bowels of Mount Justice.

He didn't give any sign of his consciousness, using the time to mentally check himself over.

The first thing he noticed was that they'd changed his clothes, because he knew that his _Renegade_ uniform wasn't this cotton-y or loose. Before he could panic, he felt that his mask was still on, which was a comfort. It also meant that Batman was probably not too far away.

The next thing he did was do an inventory for injuries. As far as he could tell without actually moving or opening his eyes, he was relatively unharmed. A few parts of his body were throbbing dully from the fight, but those were probably nothing more than some bumps and bruises, easy to work through. A small area on his side stung irritatingly, actually, and he figured that had to be the place Artemis had injected him.

Dick had to admit to being impressed by her; he'd always known she was talented, but he hadn't expected her to be able to follow-through in such a way. That would teach him about underestimating his opponents.

Next, Dick checked outward. He couldn't hear any other people nearby, but that didn't mean he wasn't being watched. On the contrary; the Cave was riddled with cameras, and he was sure at least five of them were focused solely on him in the moment.

Eventually, Dick opened his eyes and sat up, figuring there was no reason to keep pretending to be asleep. He glanced down at himself and saw that they'd put him in plain gray sweatpants and a t-shirt. He withheld a scowl; he wanted his fucking things back.

He located the nearest camera with unerring accuracy and rose an eyebrow at it before getting to his feet.

Dick went through a stretching routine, wanting to work out his sore muscles, and grimaced at the dark purple bruise on his side where the arrowhead needle had hit him. It was startling against his pale skin, even in comparison to the fading bruises he'd gotten over the last few weeks.

After maybe fifteen minutes, Dick heard a door slide open from somewhere far down the hall, and then multiple pairs of footsteps getting closer and closer. He stood up, cracked his shoulders, and then waited.

Soon enough, Batman, Superman, Martian Manhunter, Black Canary, Aqualad, and Artemis all appeared.

Dick rose his eyebrows at the wide array. "Don't I feel special," he drawled.

Batman tilted his head, watching him, and then glanced at J'onn and nodded. Dick tensed, waiting for the feeling of a Martian trying to enter his mind, and bared his teeth when it happened, a sharp stab of pain rocking through his skull.

 _"Stop resisting, Robin,"_ he heard the hero say, both inside his head and in real life,  _"it will not hurt if you simply let me in."_

"Stay out of my head," Dick grit back. "You have no right to my thoughts."

The pain was rising, J'onn's attempt to get into his head clashing against Dick's need to resist, his need to make Slade proud, to not let their enemies learn their secrets. He refused to be the weak link.

He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a palm against his forehead like that could somehow lessen the pain that was completely in his psyche, not physical.

 _"Please relax, Robin,"_ J'onn said,  _"I do not wish to harm you."_

"Too late," Dick gasped, and then cried out as the pain intensified. He felt something dripping from his nose.

"Alright, that's enough," Superman's booming voice commanded, and the pain vanished.

Dick slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, and then wiped at his face; his hand came away streaked with blood.

"Has he been trained to resist telepathic intervention at a hostile level?" J'onn asked quietly.

"No," Batman replied.

Dick lifted his head defiantly, looking them over. "Yes," he disagreed, "I have." His eyes landed on Wayne. "Simply not by you."

The vigilante didn't react at all to his comment, expression completely devoid of emotion.

"Tell us why you attacked us, Robin," Black Canary said, her voice gentle. She didn't look angry with him, despite what he did to her.

He almost pitied her. He almost pitied them all.

"I would hope that's self-explanatory," Dick replied with a raised eyebrow.

Canary shrugged a shoulder, her gaze never wavering. "Tell us anyway."

Dick narrowed his eyes critically. "I'm the mole," he said, like it should've been obvious. "The person you all have been hunting forthat's me. I've been funneling information to your enemies this entire time. I've interfered with just about every mission we've gone on. And then my mission was to get Superboy down for the count, so I attacked you. Easy peasy."

"You were carrying Kryptonite patches," Canary commented.

Dick dipped his chin in a nod. "I was."

"Where'd you get them?" Superman asked, arms folded across his chest.

One corner of Dick's mouth curved up. "Your friendly neighborhood supervillain, of course. Lex Luthor is a very helpful individual."

"Is he who has Superboy?"

Dick shrugged a shoulder. "Don't know, don't care. That wasn't part of my mission."

"He's your friend!" Artemis shouted. "How can you not care? Luthor's a maniac who's probably  _hurting_ Conner! How are you okay with that?"

Dick just stared back at her impassively, unbothered. Maybe Conner had been his friend at one point, but the Kryptonian clone didn't matter; none of them did. He was loyal to Slade, and he wanted to be good, to serve well. If that meant turning on Superboy and the rest of them, then he wouldn't hesitate. He wanted to make his master proud.

"Which one do you call master?" J'onn asked.

Dick jerked back like he'd been slapped, eyes wide. "Excuse me?" he demanded. The heroes all looked just as surprised, some a little nauseated.

"It was a very strong thought that just passed through your mind," the Martian explained. "To  _make your master proud._ Is that Luthor? Deathstroke?"

Dick said nothing. He's been sloppy; he couldn't do that again.

Instead, he started singing the entirety of  _Hamilton_ in his head; it was a long show, and he knew every word. Perfect cover filter for his thoughts.

J'onn sighed, almost exasperated. "Something tells me I am going to be sick of this music very soon." Batman looked at him expectantly. "Robin is now reciting the lyrics from the Broadway show  _Hamilton_ in an effort to conceal his thoughts. It is, unfortunately, very effective."

"I am to please," Dick said with a smirk.

"Deathstroke," Batman said decisively after a moment. Dick narrowed his eyes. "That's who he means; at the ambush, Luthor referred to Robin as _Wilson's boy,_ and then Robin only attacked after the command by Deathstroke. That's why he doesn't know where Superboy isDeathstroke isn't the one who actually cares, and so neither does his apprentice."

Dick withheld a shiver at the term  _apprentice;_ it's what Slade sometimes called him, the word always full of pleasure and pride. It was a way to bind them even further together, to claim Dick one more way as  _his._ Dick was  _his_ apprentice, _his_ little bird, _his_ Renegade.

Batman regarded the young boy carefully for a moment, and then said, "Little bird, complete mission."

Dick shuddered, nausea rolling through him. No, that was wrong, that was wrong, that was  _wrong._ Where was Slade? He neededhe needed his master, this wasn't good, something was wrong

"What's happening?" someone asked. Dick barely heard them, hunched in on himself. His mind was in chaos, wrong voice saying those words, mission to complete but what, where was his master, why

"Little bird, complete mission," Batman repeated firmly, voice unyielding.

Another shudder traveled down Dick's spine and then he let the confusion go, let the calm mindset wash over him. He just wanted to be good, to serve. If he had a mission to complete he had to do it, his master was saying so, wasn't he? Yes, it would all be fine. He just had to be good.

Dick straightened slowly, evening out his breathing until his body was calm. He was perfectly at peace.

"Mission parameters, Sir?" Dick asked, looking at the man who'd spoken, at Batman. He wanted to be good, to complete his mission, but he didn't have any other missions at the moment. His job had been to steal the computer disk and deliver it to his master, which he'd...done? It was here somewhere and this was...well, this was his master, wasn't it?

"What the hell," Artemis breathed.

"Batman, will you explain?" Kaldur'ahm prompted, his voice shaking a little.

"That's what Deathstroke said right before Robin attacked," Bruce explained, never breaking eye contact with Dick. "Originally I just thought it was a small term of endearment and an order, but the more we learned the more it seemed likely that it was a trigger phrase; it appears I was right."

"So Robin was  _brainwashed?"_ Artemis exclaimed.

"Sir?" Dick asked, eyes flicking over the group of heroes before back to Batman. He was started to feel anxious; was he failing somehow? Did his master think he was defective? He just wanted to be good, just wanted to serve.

Bruce pursed his lips and shared a look with Black Canary. "The problem is that from here, we're flying blind; I don't know any of the other phrases, and we don't know how to snap him out of it."

No one said anything for a moment, and then

"We could try...asking him?" Superman suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Batman stared at the Kryptonian for a moment, opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again and said, "Might as well." He turned his attention to Dick.

"What are my mission parameters, Sir?" Dick asked, licking his lips anxiously.

"...Tell me the trigger phrases you're aware of in relation to your own conditioning."

Dick blinked, frowned, blinked again, and then complied.

 _"'Rise and shine'_ will bring my memories back, but not make me complaint," he began. "Any phrase involving  _'Mission'_ will bring me to where I'm supposed to be in following orders, Sir, as a reminder of a task I have at hand, such as report mission, or complete mission. _'Lights out'_ will bring forth my conditioning in its entirety, and I'll await orders. Of course, all of these need to be said with the two base trigger words to work."

He rattled them off succinctly and then waited, ignoring the uneasy looks the heroes were sharing, keeping his eyes fixed on Bruce's.

"Like a fucking robot," Artemis muttered under her breath, and Kaldur shushed her.

"And what would be the phrase to..." Bruce considered his words. "To push back your conditioning and resume your sleeper status?"

Dick's brow furrowed. He racked his brain, but he...didn't know. Slade must've said it many,  _many_ times, whenever he was sending him back to the Manor and Mount Justice, but Dick didn't know what it was. Once again, anxiety blossomed in his chest. He wanted to be good, to serve, to serve well, but he didn't have the answer that Bruce wanted.

"I..." He licked his lips. "I'm sorry, Sir, I don't know."

Bruce glanced at J'onn, and after moment, the Martian nodded.

"He is telling the truth. In fact, he..." J'onn grimaced. "He's worried. He perceives this lack of knowledge as failure, and failure is...not an option."

Dick hunched his shoulders, feeling ashamed. It  _was_ failure. Slade had always been so disappointed with him when he didn't have all the information he'd been tasked with gathering, and it _hurt,_ because Slade's gaze would be cold and distant and he wouldn't tell him he was good, he wouldn't say he was doing well, there would just be silence between them just like there is now

"You're doing well, Robin," J'onn said. The Martian's voice was stilted, the phrase coming out a little awkwardly, but it sounded like he meant it all the same. Dick's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "You have not failed, you are being...good."

"J'onn," Dinah said quietly, "what are you doing?"

The Martian didn't reply, but from the way Canary, Clark, and Artemis stiffened, Dick figured that he must've established a telepathic link between the group and explained.

Kaldur looked like someone had hit him in the gut. Bruce didn't react at all, save for the way his hands balled into fists at his sides.

Artemis turned on her heels and strode away, back down the hall and out of sight. Dinah hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking from Artemis' retreating figure to Dick, and then she sighed and followed the archer, shooting one last glance at Bruce as well.

"Superman, Aqualad, would you give us a moment?" Batman asked, not looking away from Dick.

"Of course," Kaldur said, bowing his head for a moment before leaving. Clark reached up and squeezed Bruce's shoulder, then left as well.

"Do you wish for me to depart, too, Batman?" J'onn asked.

"Do you think you can get past the conditioning?" Bruce asked instead of replying. Dick cocked his head.

J'onn's brow furrowed. "I...do not know. It is very thorough; Deathstroke did his job well. His goal was complete obedience and he was successful.

"Also, you must consider how fragile Robin's mind is right now. His focus has shifted to you since you've used the trigger phrase but  _you_ are not the person who trained it into him, the person who has been his 'master' for months. If you try to make him obey bigger commands, his mind might resist and then his psyche would be damaged, perhaps permanently. And because of this fragility, I am afraid of pushing into his mind for much the same reason."

"So what you're implying is we need Deathstroke," Bruce murmured.

After a moment's hesitation, J'onn nodded slowly. "For me to have any hope of breaking the conditioning, his mind needs to be focused and calm, not split in the way it is now. Which means Deathstroke has to  _take_ back control of Robin momentarily. And we...have to let him."

* * *

Dick's orders were simple: wait in the alleyway.

That was it. Nothing he needed to do or look out for or wear, just...sit. So, he did.

He crouched beside the large dumpster and brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. They'd given him a pair of jeans and a jacket to wear, as well as shoes, which was all much better than the gray sweatpants he'd been in before.

He wasn't cold, but he was shaking. He wasn't tired, but his eyes burned with the need for sleep. He didn't feel hungry, but his stomach was cramping anyway.

All of him felt  _off,_ and he didn't like it. He wanted his master to fix him, to make it all better, to tell him he'd done well and then let him rest for a little while, let him not have to feel the pounding that was in his skull, constant since they'd let him out of that cell, like there was something he should be doing and yet wasn't.

The shaking was getting worse, and he was starting to see double. Nausea clawed at his throat but he refused to vomit, refused to do something as weak as that over...what? Why was he feeling this way?

He didn't know how long he sat there, hunched in on himself and feeling sicker than he ever had, before he felt the presence of another person.

"Kid?"

Dick rose his head from where he'd tucked it against his chest. There were two Slades in front of him and he blinked rapidly, waiting for them to meld into one.

When they did, Slade crouched in front of him. His brow was furrowed with concern and confusion and he reached out, cupping the side of Dick's neck. The boy let out a shuddering breath at the contact.

"What happened to you?" Slade asked.

"They told me to wait here," Dick mumbled. His throat was so dry. His head was swimming. "I don't know what's happening. He ordered me to wait here, and I feel..."

"He ordered you?" Slade parroted back, his voice urgent. Dick nodded, a disjointed jerk of his head. "How?"

"Said the words," Dick told him, his voice almost a slur. "Something's wrong, it's all wrong." He looked up at the mercenary with a pleading gaze. "Help me." He didn't even know what help he was asking for.

Slade's tongue darted out to wet his lips and he looked around, scanning for any sign of other people around them. But Dick was alone.

"Alright, Dick," the mercenary murmured. "It's all going to be alright. Lights out, little bird."

A sharp pain cracked through Dick's head and he keened, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt like vomiting. He felt like the world was ending.

"Look at me, little bird."

More pain, but _obey, obey, obey._

Dick pried his eyes open, squinting up at Slade. The mercenary pursed his lips at whatever he saw in the boy's expression, and then pressed their foreheads together, keeping eye contact.

"Listen to me, little bird. You are doing so well. You're a good boy, and only need to follow my orders. Who are you loyal to, Dick?"

"Y-" Dick began, choking on the word. He sucked in a sharp gulp of air. He wanted this to stop. Why wouldn't this stop?

"Lights out, little bird," Slade said again, his voice firm, unyielding,  _commanding._

One more sharp burst of pain that had Dick crying out, and then

Calm.

Dick breathed in and out slowly, taking measured breaths. The pounding in his chest began to subside, his pulse evening out. The pain and shakiness and sickness all faded away, leaving Dick feeling calm and at peace, safe tucked against his master. Slade said he was doing well. He was a good boy. He only needed to follow orders. Yes.

"Sir?"

Slade released a breath, heavy and relieved, and then pulled back. He examined the boy's features for a long moment and then smiled crookedly. "Had me worried there for a moment, kid."

"I'm sorry," Dick replied automatically, not wanting to disappoint his master.

But Slade only shook his head. "No need to apologize. You're doing so well, little bird. Absolutely perfect."

Dick beamed at him, relaxing even further, and leaned into the hand cupping the side of his neck. "Thank you."

"Who do you serve, little bird? Who do you obey?" his master asked.

"You," Dick breathed in reply.

"Who are you loyal to, above all else?"

"You," Dick said again, heartfelt, his eyelids fluttering shut.

"Good boy," Slade purred, and then pulled away, getting to his feet. Dick followed him. "Now come on, we have to get out of here before they decide to spring whatever trap they were hoping to-"

Then, with a burst of light, Slade vanished.

Dick jerked forward in surprise, his eyes going wide, and then the light rose up around him as well, almost blinding in its intensity.

When the light faded, he found himself in the large atrium of the Watchtower, members of the League all around. Slade was a few feet away on his knees, hands bound behind his back, scowling up at his captors.

Without hesitation, Dick started to dart forward, intent on freeing his master, but he didn't make it more than two steps before someone strong grabbed him, twisting his arms behind his back and holding him there. Dick craned his neck back and saw Superman, his expression grave.

"Let me go," Dick growled. The Kryptonian didn't so much as bat an eye, not even when Dick yanked against him, trying to free himself.

"What's the code, Deathstroke?" someone asked, drawing Dick's attention back to the room at large.

Batman was standing in front of Slade, staring down at him blankly.

"What code, Batman?" the mercenary replied, his expression shifting into one of boredom.

"The one that will put Robin back into his right mind," Batman replied calmly, patiently. "It was the only one he couldn't remember, which isn't too surprising; a good way to cover your bases."

"Maybe he's just stuck like this," Slade taunted. He looked over at Dick and offered the boy a wink; Batman's hands twitched. "Maybe there _isn't_ some special code to bring your boy back to you. Maybe he's just  _mine_ now."

Batman didn't rise to the taunt. "You would've needed a phrase to make him go back to acting naturally, to forget everything you were making him do. It would be the only way to conceal his actions from the two telepaths constantly around himif he didn't know what he was doing, then neither would we. So what is it?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Slade asked, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "He's a perfect soldier like thisobedient, ruthless, easy to control; are you sure you wouldn't rather have me just hand you the reins instead?"

"I'll settle for just the trigger phrase," Batman said coldly.

Slade hummed, and then looked Dick over. "Oh, I'm sure. Would you like Superboy's location, as well, since we're showing all our cards?"

"If you're offering," Superman said in a deadpan.

"What if I made you  _pick_ one?" Slade taunted.

"Wilson," Batman growled.

The mercenary rolled his eye and made an exasperated noise. "Fine, fine. Have it your way, bats. I had a little fun with this one, actuallylittle bird, time to count sheep."

Suddenly, Dick felt very drowsy. His head dipped, his eyes sliding shut. He felt arms slowly release him but he stayed standing. Everything faded away for a moment, and then the fog lifted, and he rose his head, looking around.

Anxiety stabbed through Dick's chest. This was the Watchtower. Just one moment ago he'd been in the field, back-to-back with his teammates and some League members, surrounded on all sides by the enemy. How did he get here? How much time had he lost this time? And why was everyone staring at him?

"Robin," Bruce said gently, drawing his ward's attention. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Dick hesitated and licked his lips. How had they figured out he was losing time? Why were they there? And why was Deathstroke kneeling on the ground and smirking at him?

"We were surrounded," Dick said slowly, eyes flicking over the Leaguers before settling on Bruce. He was sure his confusion and anxiety were clear in his expression. "It was an ambush. Then Luthor, Deathstroke, and Sportsmaster appeared, and now-" He hesitated again. "Well, now we're...here."

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" Deathstroke said, chuckling. "Really a piece of art."

"Be quiet," Black Canary snapped.

"What's going on?" Dick asked nervously.

"Oh, yes, let's clue him in, shall we?" Deathstroke said with a raised eyebrow. "We wouldn't want the kid to be confused. Rise and shine, little bird."

Dick frowned for a second and then

The memories flooded back into his mind and he gasped, reeling as everything came back to him. Betraying his team, over and over and over again. Betraying Bruce, and the trust the League put in him. Selling out Conner and using his friends' weaknesses against them.

And then all the things Slade made him do while they were alone, all the things that left bruises on his body that he couldn't understand.

He'd been used, in just about every sense of the word. Slade had done that to him, for  _months._

"You-" Dick choked out. He couldn't make sense of the swarm of emotions flooding him. Fear, anger, desperation,  _shame._ "You did this to me."

"I did," Deathstroke agreed with a smile.

"I thought I was going insane!" Dick shouted, anger winning. "I thoughtthat there was something seriously  _wrong_ with me, but instead it was _you!_ You complete and utter  _bastard!"_

He dove forward, slamming his fist into Slade's jaw.

Someone hauled him back, pulling him out of range, and the mercenary simply laughed.

"Let me go!" Dick yelled, fighting against the hold. "You don't understandyou don't get what he did  _let me go!"_

"Calm down, Robin," Bruce murmured. Dick didn't. "Robin, please, just take a breath."

"You don't understand," Dick said, and now it sounded almost like a plea. "You don't get what he did."

There was laughter in Slade's voice when he said, "Take a breath and stop fighting, little bird."

And Dick did.

He was still angry and afraid and even  _devastated,_ but he took a deep, calming breath and stopped fighting against Bruce. After a hesitant moment, his mentor released him.

"You're welcome," Slade told Bruce, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

"Stop messing with my head," Dick growled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You've done enough damage."

"Do you remember the example I told Luthor, kid?" Slade asked, seemingly out of the blue. "The proof of your loyalty?"

_I could tell him to strip naked and lick your boots, Luthor, and he'd follow the command without hesitation._

Dick felt the blood drain from his face and he sneered, ignoring the pounding in his chest. "Try it, Wilson, and see which one of us drops first."

Slade grinned back at him. "What did I tell you, Batman?  _Ruthless._ You sure you don't want me to give you control of him?"

"How do we break the conditioning?" Dick snapped.

Deathstroke just smiled, not saying anything. Dick pulled in a breath through his nose and then let it out. He turned to Martian Manhunter.

"I fought against you before," he said gravely, "I won't now. Get him out of my head." J'onn hesitated, eye flicking over to Bruce.  _"Do it."_

"Alright," the Martian said quietly. "I will attempt." He walked closer and then rose his hands, putting two fingers on both of Dick's temples. J'onn's eye glowed green, and everything in Dick's mind flooded with light.


	2. Epilogue

None of them missed the way Robin flinched when someone told him he'd done well.

They didn't miss the shudder that ran up his spine whenever someone compared him to a bird, or the twitch in his jaw when an enemy called him _little._

None of them commented on the fact that when Robin was really tired he called Aqualad, Batman, and any other authority figure  _Sir._ They all pretended like it didn't happen, because the young hero didn't even seem to notice he did it.

They didn't miss the way Robin would go deathly still when someoneusually Connerstarted yelling. They didn't miss the way he couldn't quite meet Green Arrow's gaze, nor Black Canary's.

And there was no way any of them could miss the way Robin hesitated in training, like he was afraid of hurting them, or of them hurting him.

It had been three months since Martian Manhunter had cleared Deathstroke's influence from Robin's mind, but that didn't change the fact that young hero remembered everything that he'd been forced to do, and everything that had been done  _to_ him.

Overall, the team had been left primary in the dark about specifics, but none of them were stupid, and it wasn't hard to figure some of it out.

Like the time that M'gann's hand brushed Robin's neck as she was reaching for something. Robin went rigid, and the Martian sucked in a sharp breath, just before Robin practically dashed from the room.

She wouldn't tell them what she'd seen in the glimpse of a memory that had been pulled to the forefront of Robin's mind by the contact, but the tears that filled her eyes and the way she flinched from touch for the next few hours told them all they needed to know.

None of the League would tell them where Deathstroke had been placed. Maybe the heroes could see it in their eyes, the need for vengeance, the fury on behalf of their teammate. Or maybe one of them had really grown a pair and the mercenary was dead, and they didn't want to tell the teens.

The Cave and missions felt so much quieter. Usually, Robin would have a million jokes and one-liners for them, or his creepy laugh as he vanished from sight. Now, the Boy Wonder barely spoke at all. They all got much better at reading his non-verbal cues, though it was hard; he'd been trained by Batman, and was very good at hiding what he was feeling.

Each and every small smile they managed to draw from him left them feeling more accomplished than a million successful missions.

One day, Robin walked in on an argument between Artemis and Red Tornado about whether or not some people simply deserved to die, with a certain someone in mind. Robin left immediately, but that night Artemis found a brand new mini-crossbow waiting for her in her room at home, so she figured she must've said  _something_ right.

None of them missed the way Robin seemed to always be looking for something or some _one_ when he entered a room, and then the way he seemed to hate himself for it.

None of them were unaware of the fact that Black Canary kept trying to get Robin to talk about everything that happened, and that he wouldn't.

None of them could blame him for it, even if they wished he would speak to  _someone._

"I'm worried about him," they overheard one night, a conversation between Black Canary and Batman when the heroes thought the team had already gone home. "This has all affected him in a drastic way, and he won't talk to me, or anyone. I'm afraid that whatever's going on in his mind is going to hurt him in the long run."

"Robin's strong," Batman replied, but he sounded tired. The teammates all shared a look.

"He is," Black Canary agreed, "but the problem is he learned coping mechanisms from  _you."_

Batman snorted. "Am I really so bad at talking about my feelings?"

"Yes," Canary replied without hesitation. "You dress up as a bat and patrol the streets of Gotham as an alternative to therapy. For a while, it seemed like Robin didn't have a problem talking about things that bothered him, but I should've figured that once something big hit-"

"I don't know what to do about it, Dinah," Batman sighed. "He doesn't talk to me, either. Or if he does it's just..." A pause, and then, "Well, it's just him telling me he's fine."

Neither of them spoke for a while.

"I think he's afraid," Black Canary said quietly. "Of it happening again, I mean. He spent  _months_ losing time and being used by that psychopath, B; I think he's afraid that J'onn wasn't really successful, and that someone could still get into his head with two little words."

"Do you think he blames us?"

_"What?"_

Batman let out a slow breath. "You said it yourselfthis was going on for  _months,_ and we didn't notice a thing. Deathstroke was taking control of him and none of us suspected anything. Do you think Robin blames us for how long it went on?"

Black Canary didn't reply for a while, and then she said, "I think it would be understandable if he did, but no. It's far more likely that he blames himself."

"But-"

"I'm not saying it's rational," Canary interrupted gently. "I'm just saying that I think between blaming  _you_ and blaming  _himself,_ Robin is the type to turn everything inward." A brief pause, and then she wryly added, "Much like his father."

Wally shifted, then, and knocked something over, the object clattering loudly to the ground. The team froze, each of them sending the speedster a dirty look, and then they all turned to quickly escape before the two Leaguers could catch them spying.

They'd taken no more than a step before they spotted Robin, cloaked in darkness on the other side of the hall, clearly having been listening in as well. He offered them a sloppy salute and then made his way down the hall and out of sight.

The team scampered after him, but he had vanished by the time they made it to the atrium.

"Do you think he blames us?" M'gann asked timidly, voicing the thought that was running around each of their minds. "We're his teammates, his friends, and we never noticed..."

"No," Kaldur said quietly, shaking his head. "Black Canary is more than likely right in her hypothesis about Robin turning the blame inward, despite the fact that he is completely undeserving of that burden."

"We'll simply have to prove him wrong, then," Artemis said, raising her chin stubbornly. "We'll have his back, just like he always has ours. If he ever wants to talk or whatever we can listen, but until then he just has to know that we've got him."

"Of course we've got him," Conner snorted, nodding sharply. "And if we ever come across Slade Wilson..."

Wally smirked. "I've got a few ideas."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Wow_ that was a wild ride to write. Shit, so many emotions, so much going on.
> 
> NOW WITH SEQUEL: "Rules of Architecture" https://archiveofourown.org/works/19254637/chapters/45789016
> 
> If any of you guys have any prompts you'd be curious to see filled out by me, reach out! My tumblr is _boyblunder-thedarkheir_ and my email is WithTheKeyIsKing@gmail.com


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